


Such Fickle Yearning

by bloodsongs



Category: The Avengers (2012), Thor (2011)
Genre: 5+1, Angst, Community: norsekink, I REGRET NOTHING, In which happiness is a lie, M/M, Water!porn
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2012-05-07
Updated: 2012-05-07
Packaged: 2017-11-05 00:00:46
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 6
Words: 9,020
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/399673
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/bloodsongs/pseuds/bloodsongs
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Written for the "Five times Thor fell for Loki's illusions, and one time he didn't" prompt on Norsekink.</p><p>Thor is deceived by Loki's simulacrums five times. Once during a more innocent time in their youth, another when Loki went to him, and a third time as they sparred, breathless, riding the sweet exhilaration of combat. A fourth time has them celebrating the last moments before Thor's coronations by the sea, and the fifth occurs during Loki's eventual descent into madness as a chaosbringer, raining destruction down upon Midgard because he can.</p><p>And then, one time, Thor finally learns — but it might just be too late.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Learning

**Author's Note:**

  * For [soraishida](https://archiveofourown.org/users/soraishida/gifts).

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Loki had always been a wary, guarded sort, but Thor would never forget the way his cheeks had flushed with pleasure and pride when Thor’d told him that his seiðr was the most beautiful thing he had ever seen in all the Nine Realms.

There’s something about Loki.

  
Thor’s always been fascinated by his younger sibling, who always seemed to be immersed in a world so different from his own. Loki’s world was a mesmerising alien realm, full of musty tomes, unearthly colours and wild magic.  
  
He doesn’t understand it, but that doesn’t stop Thor from tailing Loki whenever Loki sweeps heavy books up in the small cradle of his arms, huffing for breath as he carries them all to the library, stubborn and sure.  
  
Loki is to Thor as night is to day, he muses; where Thor is loud and rambunctious, Loki can often lapse into silence like the grave, green eyes sharp and never missing anything through the shifting summers. Thor fights and spars the golden days of Asgard away while Loki thumbs through books after books of seiðr, learning breathtaking new spells he occasionally demonstrates to Thor when he flatters bookish Loki into showing off for him.  
  
Thor is a little envious, sometimes, of Loki’s grasp of magic. He’d held his brother’s hands, once, brushing his fingers over that warmth as Loki’d taken a breath and conjured darkness in front of him. Thor’d almost leapt back, startled, but Loki had gripped his hands tightly so that he couldn’t budge. Closing his eyes, Loki chanted words unfamiliar to Thor, and tiny lights had flickered to life, painting a miniature version of the stars and Yggdrasil before his eyes.  
  
Loki had always been a wary, guarded sort, but Thor would never forget the way his cheeks had flushed with pleasure and pride when Thor’d told him that his seiðr was the most beautiful thing he had ever seen in all the Nine Realms.  
  
(Eventually, Loki would brush off Thor’s cajoling and begin to guard his magic jealously instead, very much like how he would hide a secret lover away. Thor enjoyed whatever Loki would deign to share with him while it lasted.)  
  
Thor smiles, recalling little moments past, and then straightens abruptly when Loki takes another two tomes off the shelf to a table, and sits down. Loki looks rather enchanting like this when he’s poring over his books, rather like the small, dark-haired nymphs Thor’s seen in the forests.  
  
He tiptoes carefully behind a bigger shelf, grinning to himself. Loki is brilliant, and remarkably clever. He’s very proud of his younger brother and his mastery of magic, but Thor reckons Loki needs some time away from his books to have some fun once in a while.  
  
Thor peeks from behind a book that’s almost as thick as his head, checking to see if Loki’s still bent over the table in thought.  
  
He is.  
  
Aha.  
  
Thor attempts to move behind Loki as stealthily as he can, until he’s right behind his chair. He leans closer until he can almost read the letters on the pages, and reaches out a hand to tap Loki’s shoulder—  
  
“A surprise attack? How unoriginal, Thor.”  
  
He doesn’t shout, but it’s a near thing. The illusion in front of him falls apart at his touch, and Thor whips around to glare at Loki accusingly. “You tricked me!”  
  
Loki just smiles mysteriously, eyes dancing. “I certainly didn’t. I’d spotted you following me to the library a few times now, and I wanted to see what you’d do.”  
  
Thor sulks a little. “I just wanted to whisk you away from your books for a bit, Loki. Let’s go out for a while, get you out in the sunshine.”  
  
“I have to study,” Loki taps Thor’s nose, and Thor blows a raspberry at him. “But if you missed my company so that you had to tail me for _days_ in order to muster up the courage to actually ask me to spend time with you…”  
  
Squirming away from Loki as Loki moves to ruffle his hair, Thor sputters indignantly. “That’s, I didn’t have to muster up my courage or anything! Such lies you spout from your mouth, Loki. I, I _just_ —”  
  
“Whatever you say, Thor,” Loki cuts him off with a smirk, and pushes him to the floor so that Thor’s sprawled in a tangled heap of curses and limbs. “I’ll race you to the Hall.”  
  
Thor can only stare dumbly from the ground as Loki runs out of the library, laughing all the way.  
  
“…you _cheat!_ ”


	2. Becoming

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Something in her voice, just this side of challenging and questioning, stirs something within him. She’s pale and wan, Thor notes, drawing the back of his knuckles down her cheek, tries not to wonder how Loki’s skin would feel like, instead. “You remind me of someone,” he begins, slowly.

It’s Loki’s birthday, a glorious celebration in Asgard. Thor _was_ looking to wish his beloved younger brother a fond birthday wish, but Loki’s all but vanished into thin air after the solemn ceremonies and the beginning of the feast.

He feels a strange sense of loss at that, and hopelessness.

It’s been years since he first started nursing confusing thoughts about Loki, Loki with his books, clever tongue, and wily ways. Thor’s never known what to do about it, torn between his desires, wanting to push Loki roughly against a wall, wanting to kiss that smirk off that face, wanting all of it to stop, wanting it to never stop, wanting _Loki_ —

—so much wanting.

In the space between inebriation and darkness, Thor loathes himself for thinking of Loki that way, because Loki is different from a serving girl who wants a night with the first-born prince of Asgard. Loki is so much more, has _always_ been so much more than just anyone else. It’s Loki, Loki his brother, his lovely brother, the moon to his sun.

Thor hates that he can’t stop this accursed longing, and the vicious burn of shame that accompanies it.

He wishes he could forget.

Thor thinks he might have a chance, tonight. He’s discovered something ethereal in the corridors, tucked into an alcove, beautiful in the moonlight.

The raucous roars and laughter of the hall are distant, the sky hushed and dark outside. The maiden’s lips are soft against his, her warmth inviting against his skin. Thor tugs gently at the dark braid of her hair, tasting wine and something like summer as he kisses her, pulls her against him.

“You’re very beautiful,” Thor says in awe and something that burns a little painfully like guilt at the thought of Loki somewhere in the Hall, alone in a crowd. He is strangely drawn to the gold-green of her eyes. “I don’t believe I have seen you before, my lady?”

The young girl laughs, soft and shy. It’s a lyrical sound that doesn’t quite match the shuttered expression on her face, in the enigma of her gaze. “Perhaps you have, golden Thor,” she murmurs, pressing a finger against his lips. “You need only try to remember.”

Something in her voice, just this side of challenging and questioning, stirs something within him. She’s pale and wan, Thor notes, drawing the back of his knuckles down her cheek, tries not to wonder at how Loki’s skin would feel like, instead. “You remind me of someone,” he begins, slowly.

“A lover?” She drawls, and she sounds pleased; there is a lilting surprise to her voice which doesn’t quite sound like surprise at all, a wonted shade he cannot place. “Should I be jealous, my prince?”

His head just a little heavy with wine, Thor groans quietly as she mouths down his jaw, breath tickling his cheek, and doesn’t respond to her loaded question. There _is_ something sweetly wrong about this, that he’s doing this on what should be Loki’s night, that…

Thoughts of Loki come to him, unbidden. Loki’s half-smiles, so beautiful on his brother’s face. Loki scouring corners of Asgard to find and comfort him when Thor’s run off in a rage, or when Thor will speak to no one in shame. Their lingering touches, little moments their eyes met that seemed to speak so much more loudly than words ever could.

Loki.

It’s always been about Loki.

Suddenly, Thor can’t breathe.

There’s something of Loki in this enchanting young girl, but Thor finds he can’t bring himself to go through with… well. He’s never had a problem taking other ladies of the court to his bed before, and the occasional warrior on nights where he’d yearned for rougher play. Right now, Thor can’t look into her eyes without being reminded of Loki, that it’s not her he’s so drawn to, that the one he _truly_ wants is—

“I’m sorry, Thor begins, a little awkwardly, and she stills against him. “I can’t, there is someone. I…”

There’s a flash in her eyes, something like anger and _hurt_ , but she quickly schools it back into nonchalance. Thor blinks, feels like he’s missed something.

_“Who?”_ She snarls, the word lashing out like a whip, and the force of it stuns Thor. The maiden’s long fingers dig painfully into his arms now, and Thor winces.

Her brief moment of fury dissipates almost as quickly as it’d reared. She seems taken aback, herself. Drawn up tight against him, the line of her body rigid with tension, she moves away. “I have to go,” the girl says stiffly as she tosses her braid over her shoulder, robes flowing around her like a mirage. It is startling to see her sweet face suddenly morph into sharp, unhappy angles, and it makes Thor feel absolutely terrible.

“I do apologise if I have… offended you,” Thor tries, fumbling and frustrated. “It’s not you, either. He doesn’t know about what I think I feel for him, and under other circumstances… you’re very pleasant, very beautiful, like a nymph.” Great, now he was yammering on like a fool. “But even if he’s not aware of my feelings for him, it feels like I’m… wronging him, somehow, and I don’t want to do that, even if it means my feelings cannot be returned. Even if it means he cannot know.”

Silence.

Stepping closer, her face looks stark and drawn against the darkness of their surroundings, her eyes wide with what looks like disbelief and wonderment.

“What do you mean?” She asks, breathless, as if she is afraid of what he will answer.

Thor looks away, feeling embarrassment and helpless anger well up within him. He doesn’t even know why he’s rambling so at a complete stranger. Well, a complete stranger he was kissing very enthusiastically just a few minutes ago, but still. “I don’t _know_!” he blurts, feeling all his tightly hidden shame and yearning burst. “He’s sarcastic and standoffish and he reads too many _books_ and he is a bit of a sneak and to call him a liar would be a severe _understatement_.”

The girl is staring, and Thor realises he’s been shouting. He clears his throat, lowers his voice, and can almost hear the regret and resignation creeping into his words. “But I wouldn’t want him any other way,” he says quietly. “It’s the way he is, and I wouldn’t want him any other way. It pains me to think of it because we can never be, but that doesn’t stop me from wanting him just the same—”

It really doesn’t, and Thor notes with dawning wonder that he doesn’t want to stop, either.  


And that perhaps he doesn’t want to fight it, after all.

The girl raises an eyebrow, true surprise showing on her face now, and Thor trails off into silence, his face colouring. “I’m sorry, I’m not very good with words.”

Her expression softens. “Words were never really your avenue, Thor,” she says with a fond, familiar exasperation. “They _never_ were. More to mine, remember?”

Now _that_ catches him off-guard. “What—”

The moonlight bends as her silhouette shimmers. “You’re such an idiot.”

And then Loki’s lips are on his.


	3. Sustaining

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Thor’s always thrown by how brutal Loki is with his lovemaking, mouth frantic on Thor’s as he touches him everywhere, long limbs covering every inch of Thor as if he can’t get enough, as if he is afraid Thor will change his mind and leave him one night as they’re grappling.
> 
> As if he’s afraid Thor will somehow come to his senses.

Thor dodges the bite of Loki’s spear and throws Loki against the wall of the ring, a savage turn. Stripped from the waist up, they’re familiar with the feel of each other’s skin now; in battle, and in bed.  
  
It is enthralling, but the way Loki fucks him is nothing like the way Loki tends to fight. Facing down hordes of enemies, Loki inclines towards veils, shadows, subtle uses of magic and trickery to confuse his enemies and to drive them against one another where Thor charges and simply clears everything in his way because he can, an unstoppable force. When they’re tumbling together between the sheets, Loki’s magic sliding Thor’s battle armour off his limbs as they bite and thrust against each other, desperate and hungry, it is wild and wonderful and rough, and it’s everything Thor has ever wanted.  
  
Thor’s always thrown by how brutal Loki is with his lovemaking, mouth frantic on Thor’s as he touches him everywhere, long limbs covering every inch of Thor as if he can’t get enough, as if he is afraid Thor will change his mind and leave him one night as they’re grappling.  
  
As if he’s afraid Thor will somehow come to his senses.  
  
It angers Thor irrationally, it does, weaves a bitter streak of despair through him when he can read Loki’s feelings so clearly on his face. He doesn’t know about Loki’s other bed partners — and Valhalla forbid he ever find out about who has ever shared this with Loki, he would rend them apart — but Loki is uncharacteristically open with him when they’re together at night like two moving shadows, panting and vulnerable the way he never is under the harsh sunlight of day.  
  
There are many things he cannot say to Loki, that he never wishes to bring up. He sees and acknowledges the silent defiance in Loki’s eyes whenever he kisses him, whenever he draws him down and prevents Loki from leaving his bed — an unspoken challenge to continue this, whatever they’ve shared since that night Loki had approached him as a maiden and attempted to seduce him, having resigned himself to the fact that Thor might never reciprocate his feelings. For all his intelligence, Loki could be startingly obtuse at times.  
  
Thor doesn’t answer the questions and uncertainty Loki frames in the path of his kisses, the way he touches Thor too yearningly sometimes, shaking fingers trailing down his chest in wonder as if Thor is but a dream. He is never nervous, never truly indecisive (Odin had drilled that out of him when he was but a young boy, reckless on the battlefield), but he shies away from truly telling Loki the answers to the questions he does not ask because—  
  
—because he, too, is afraid that one day Loki will snarl and damn _him_ , realise he has never really wanted Thor, and disappear as he always does in a burst of ash and smoke. Thor doesn’t think he can handle Loki looking at him with a mixture of revulsion and loathing for the rest of his days.  
  
Sometimes, it feels like Loki’s the only thing that matters.  
  
When they spar, Loki has never expected him to hold back. Thor never does. For all of Loki’s reservations when it comes to actually participating in battle with weapons rather than seiðr, Thor’s discovered to his delight that Loki, too, relishes the dark rush of combat and how it leaves his blood singing with fierce joy.  
  
And so they pace, so they fight. They rain blows upon the other with bare fists and weapons, drawing blood and leaving blossoming marks they’ll both smirk companionably over in a few days at feasts. Sometimes, it feels as though Loki derives some kind of satisfaction from the blood he’s spilled, from the cuts he leaves on Thor, from the angry bruises they both sport whenever they’ve finished yet another round — but Thor doesn’t think too much of it.  
  
“Do you yield?” Thor asks, the clear timbre of his voice ringing in the empty arena, pushing the point of his own spear to a point just above Loki’s shoulder.  
  
Loki smiles, quick and vicious.  
  
“Never.”  
  
The next thing Thor knows, Loki’s kicked his legs out from behind him as the illusion before him flickers and fades into the sunlight — another thrice-damned simulacrum! — and Thor trips. He swears, and scrabbles against the hard ground for his spear, but stills when Loki grabs him and pins him against the wall instead, Loki’s blade a dangerous whisper against the line of his neck.  
  
Loki laughs, throaty and low. “Do _you_ yield, Thor?”  
  
Thor shakes his head in amusement, nudges Loki’s blade away and fists the folds of Loki’s tunic tightly. Loki bites down gently on his earlobe, gently shaking with his laughter as he moves against Thor on the wall, his body a delicious grind against Thor’s. Thor moans a little, sliding a broad hand down the pale, scarred curve of Loki’s back, delighting in the heat and closeness. “You are impossible, brother.”  
  
He yanks the unrepentant trickster close, and kisses him _hard_.


	4. Drowning

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> They are both probably a little mad, two brothers entangled in this labyrinth of carnal delights and sin, partaking in pleasures that never end. Loki and Thor, Thor and Loki — both so damned and beyond salvation at this point, they might as well go down with the memories of their roughest fucks and tenderest moments, clawing and mouthing at each other like they can never get enough.
> 
> They never can.

“So, big day soon, brother mine.”

Thor surfaces from a dive and blinks the salt water out of his eyes, breathing in the crisp air. “Rather.” He brushes sodden hair back from his brow, turns to look at Loki still fully-clothed on the shore. Thor himself is completely naked as he was born, and the water feels wonderful against his bare flesh. “Not every day you get crowned the King of a Realm, Loki.”

A flick of Loki’s fingers, and Thor jerks back as water is splashed in his face. Loki grins, knowing he’ll get away with it if it’s Thor. He knows it, and so does Thor.

Thor will forgive Loki anything.

“How are you feeling?” Loki’s voice is soft, beguiling like he is. There’s a ripple of something in his words that doesn’t quite sit right, but Thor can’t identify what it is. He can’t really see Loki’s expression now that he’s further away from the shore, can’t tell if his brother is smiling or frowning from this angle.

Surely Loki is happy for him, though?

Making a thoughtful noise, Thor leans back to float in the water. The sun’s just broken out weakly from behind the thick clouds of the afternoon, and he relishes the cool embrace of the sea in this heat. “I’m never nervous,” he ventures. “It is a big responsibility, though, and I am honoured the All-Father is all but entrusting Asgard to me.”

“The mighty Thor, second-guessing himself?” There’s a mocking gasp, and Thor snorts at Loki’s theatrics. “Have no fear, Odinson. Even us gods are just men, and no one will ever know of the way you fretted so in the water, and I shan’t tell the entire ensemble of warriors at the great table on the fateful day of how you sighed like a maiden with unbridled worry.”

Thor hurls a handful of wet sand at Loki, who dodges it neatly and chuckles. “You’re far better at handling your knives!” He taunts good-naturedly, and Thor growls, deep in his throat.

Loki is still laughing when Thor emerges from the water, all sleek muscles and mussed hair, stalking up to the beach with intent. “You will pay for that insult dearly,” Thor vows, and Loki doesn’t budge, only continues to smirk at him in that damnably appealing way of his, a dark eyebrow raised.

“Come on then, Thunderer,” Loki gets up then, dusting off the sand from his clothed knees, takes a few long strides towards the edge of the water and tilts his head. He crooks a finger at Thor then, sly smirk shifting into a smile, sincere and bright.

It takes Thor’s breath away.

“Come at me, Thor.”

Thor snorts. “Oh, I will.” He begins to run towards Loki, bracing himself to tackle his brother and pull him along into the water, clothes and all—

—and lands face-first in the water with a great, undignified splash to the uncharacteristic sound of his normally refined brother whooping and punching the air. Thor scrambles to his feet, sputtering and disoriented, salt stinging his eyes in the most unpleasant of ways.

_“Loki!”_ He yells, wiping furiously at his face, and it’s not long before he can make out the slightly blurry outline of Loki just to the left of him, doubled over in laughter with his legs in the water, too.

“Will you never stop falling for that trick, Thor?” Loki wheezes. “You’d think the last few times I tricked you would have made you more impervious to my shadows.”

Thor’s cheeks flush hotly. It _is_ true — for all that Thor is a skilled warrior, second to none but the most seasoned of war gods, he _really_ should have known better than to be fooled by the same tactic again and again.

“Shut up,” he mumbles a little, mortified.

Loki is still snickering.

Taking advantage of Loki’s distraction, Thor lunges and pulls at Loki’s arm. Loki cries out in surprise, and they both lose their balance and crash down together in a pile of awkward limbs and helpless laughter. The dark sea-green of the waves around them paints a pretty picture behind Loki’s disgruntled face above him, black tendrils of hair plastered to his cheeks.

He is suddenly reminded of a great wet cat, and Thor cannot stop laughing.

Loki narrows his eyes and pulls his lips into a faux pout.

“Are you going to _sulk_ , brother?” Thor’s tone is teasing, and he gently pulls Loki down against his bare chest. It feels good, Loki’s wet limbs against his, even through the thin layer of his brother’s robes.

Loki huffs and straddles him, green eyes ever-calculating as he quirks an eyebrow and snaps his fingers, his wet robes melting into the ocean. “No, but I think I just might do something else,” Loki leans down, murmuring against Thor’s ear.

Thor shivers, and Loki drapes himself, long limbs and all over Thor languorously. It’s almost too much to bear, Loki’s skin against his own in the cooling embrace of the waves, with the hushed whispers of the tide around them. If Thor could work seiðr, he would freeze this moment in time: an almost perfect moment of careless joy that he might not be able to relive again when he is king.

“How do you want me, _Thor?_ ” Loki says, voice a low curl around his name, the dark seductiveness of his voice going straight to Thor’s cock. Truly, Loki’s mastery of words is something to behold; he has reduced Thor to a whimpering mess before with seemingly innocuous whispers and only the barest of touches, teasing and teasing him until he’d given in, pleaded for Loki to kiss him, take him in his mouth, anything to end the torture of the heated words that had tumbled from his lips.

Thor bucks up against fingers dancing lightly up his thighs, craving friction and the skilled movements of Loki’s clever hands on him. “Please,” he utters, a little feverish already. Thor has learned early on to accommodate and pander to his brother’s whims and ego if he wants something, even in bed. He is not too proud to beg for Loki’s wicked mouth, especially when he knows all too intimately how marvelous Loki’s silver tongue _really_ is when pressed slyly against his heat.

Those who insulted Loki in court on a regular basis by granting him that nickname had not the slightest of ideas how Loki’s tongue could, truly, fell entire empires if he were to work his own brand of magic with his words with it like this, along with the witchcraft of those sharp green eyes.

Loki purrs, approving, and rocks against him in the water. They’re still half-submerged in it, and it feels a little surreal. “There’s a good boy.” He kisses his way down Thor’s chest,palm grazing Thor’s cock teasingly, just a brush. Thor bites down on a moan.

He can never really predict what Loki wants when they tumble. Loki likes to tease Thor, occasionally, biting Thor’s neck and pulling him to the edge and back again for what feels like _hours_ until he deigns to grant Thor his release. Sometimes, he storms into Thor’s chambers to wake him in the dead of night, having already prepared himself vigorously with oil, and pumps Thor to hardness quickly before he rides him, and rides him hard. Other times he binds Thor with chains so he is at Loki’s mercy, where Loki mouths at Thor’s cock and hole before taking Thor from the front and pounding ruthlessly into him until he cries out Loki’s name.

Yes, he can never really predict what Loki wants to give or take when it comes to Thor. But, he muses hazily as Loki presses a kiss to the crown of his cock, that is probably what he finds most thrilling about Loki and the bed-games they play.

“Future King of Asgard,” Loki whispers, his breath tickling his skin in the most tantalising way, his soft lips an absolute torture. “Fucking into my mouth, using a prince’s lips like a common whore, bucking up like an animal rutting in heat. You enjoy this immensely, do you not?”

“Yes. Oh, Loki, yes—” Thor arches, his body a sharp curve off the water, but Loki waves a hand and his hands are pinned down. His cock jumps, because he’s never _not_ loved it when Loki used his magic against him, rendering him powerless as Loki drank Thor to his fill. “Your tongue, brother, please, I yearn for it, I—”

“Patience, Thor.” Oh, the cruel trickster, laughing at him and kissing him so intimately. He draws his breath in like a sob, wanting and wanting and _still_ Loki withholds pleasure from him—

They are both probably a little mad, two brothers entangled in this labyrinth of carnal delights and sin, partaking in pleasures that never end. Loki and Thor, Thor and Loki — both so damned and beyond salvation at this point, they might as well go down with the memories of their roughest fucks and tenderest moments, clawing and mouthing at each other like they can never get enough.

They never can.

Loki’s palm is hot against his cock when Thor keens, and that infernal smirk is back on his face as he swallows him down.


	5. Warring

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> “You think you understand me,” Loki murmurs, almost in awe, but anger is creeping into his voice, laced between his quiet words. “You think you know, you think you can fathom the workings of my mind, Thor. The utter arrogance—”
> 
> Thor grits his teeth. “I have loved you for hundreds of years beyond your wildest imaginings, you fool. I know a lot more about you than you believe me to.”
> 
> “Shut up,” Loki’s words are like the crack of a whip, quick and strong, and his eyes are desperate. “Don’t speak to me about love, you don’t know anything about what I am, what I have become.”

Thor does not know what Loki has become.  
  
His sharp, pale face twisted in hate and madness ringing in the loud bark of his laughter, Loki is unrecognisable as he smashes Thor to the ground with a swift brush of his magic. Thor can taste blood in his mouth, shudders in revulsion at the feeling of Loki’s corrupted magic around him, on him.  
  
Loki had recited a passage from his lessons to Thor, once, about how a mage’s magic mirrored and revealed himself. His magic might have been warm and golden-green before, mysterious and full of mischief, but now it just feels slick, like bile, against his skin.  
  
Like death and despair.  
  
The Avengers are scattered around him, engaged in their own battles, too busy fending off dastardly creatures of Loki’s summoning to really pay attention to the fire that is unfolding between two not-brothers, the pain they are both going through.  
  
How much agony and loneliness had Loki suffered without Thor by his side, at the revelation about his past? Thor has cursed himself countless times for not picking up on his brother’s insecurities building like a dark storm through the centuries, for not heeding the way Loki had distanced himself so towards the end, learning to lock more and more of his secrets within the ice cage of his heart, away from Thor. Clueless Thor.  
  
And Thor had never noticed the resigned sadness bleeding through the edges of his smiles whenever he’d turned to look at him. He had so mistakenly assumed that those tight, soft smiles were expressions of the strange, simple love Loki had held for a brother who was more than a brother.  
  
How could he not, when Loki had always looked at him so while murmuring unexpected words of quiet devotion in his ears between his languid movements against Thor’s naked body under the cloak of night, between the reverent kisses he pressed to Thor’s temple?  
  
Loki had spat at him when Thor had returned from his exile on Midgard, telling him that he, Loki, was no son of Odin. He’d pushed Thor away when all Thor wanted was for everything to right itself, to fold Loki back into his embrace and for life to continue in Asgard the way it’d always had. The sheer hate in Loki’s eyes, mingled with misery, had stopped him in his tracks when Thor tried to reach out to him.  
  
His brother — he is still a brother to Thor, still, even if a part of him is fiercely delighted that now, his love for Loki need not be _wrong_ —had planted seeds of simmering anger and resentment within himself so long ago, in his confusion and not understanding why it was Thor, why it was always about Thor, and why Loki was always thrust into the shadows.  
  
And now, everyone on Midgard is about to pay the price for Odin All-Father’s one decision to keep such a harrowing truth from his second son, borne of an unexpected love he’d cultivated for a babe that was not his.  
  
Thor had been so blind; when had it all started to spiral so wildly out of control?  
  
  
“Loki,” he bites out, wincing at the searing pain across his back where Loki had struck him. This is nothing like their eager, hungry sparring. Thor does not truly want to hurt Loki, and it reflects in the way he parries Loki’s reckless, savage thrusts of his staff — with defense in mind to preserve them both. Loki, however, is having none of it; he fights dirty every chance he can, knocking Thor down with cruel blows and magic both. “Brother.”  
  
A blast of magic narrowly misses his face, and Thor steadies himself with a palm on the ground, one knee in the debris. He looks up at Loki’s face, helpless before the force of his brother’s descent into his obsession with hatred and vengeance.  
  
Never has he looked more the part of the God of Chaos before this very moment.  
  
“I’m not your brother, Thor,” Loki hisses, bitter. “I have never been, no matter what false memories you choose to live by to convince yourself. To think that all these years, I believed—”  
  
Thor doesn’t say anything, gripping onto Mjolnir like a lifeline, eyes never wavering from Loki’s face as Loki seethes and rages on. Loki’s vanity, his need for theatrics, his hungry longing to be heard and acknowledged will always be a weakness to be exploited; now, though, Thor has no such designs on his brother, and he believes it is the least he can do to listen to what Loki has to say.  
  
In hindsight, Thor and the rest of Asgard have done little to endear Loki to them through the years.  
  
Outside and even within the house of Odin, the extent of Loki’s loneliness must have been crippling. Thor can see it now, stark and clear, a solitary figure swathed in green and black standing against the sneers and mockery of the other warriors at court, belittling him for his sorcery, the clever use of his tongue and his preference for diplomacy over duels.  
  
Loki, steeling his biting retorts against the whispers of how he must not have been of their blood, that surely he was no trueborn of Odin’s, because he held on to what everyone had presumed a reluctant truth; even if he were Loki the Liesmith, perceived by all of Asgard to be battleshy and craven, he was still Loki, son of Odin.  
  
Until he wasn’t.  
  
“—and you foolishly still want me to return, thinking there is a place for me at the table amongst gods who would sooner see me dead for my sins than to even step one foot in Asgard?” Loki snarls, waving a hand, and more rubble comes crashing down on screaming civilians. “Has your time with the Midgardians addled you so, Thor?”  
  
“No, it’s not that, brother,” Thor feels his throat close up. Frustration burns like a cruel flame within him at his inability to truly articulate what he wants Loki to know, what he wants, the way Loki would’ve effortlessly been able to. It is true, even after all this years; words come naturally to Loki, smooth like silk, but Thor has always been a man of action and consequence instead.  
  
He just wants to tell Loki what he believes is his truth. “Even if you think there is no place for you in the hall,” Thor blurts. “There will always be one for you beside me. With me. I’ve told you before — I would give you the crown if you so wished for it!  
  
“Home is, and has always been Asgard to me,” he pleads. “But it is only truly complete with you by my side.”  
  
Loki’s stilled, a silent figure before him, his long cape billowing in the winds of battle.  
  
“I’ve told you, too, that I did not wish for the crown,” Loki sighs after a fashion, resignedly, shaking his head. He looks to have calmed from his wild madness, if only for a moment. “I only wanted to be level with you, through all those long centuries. It was enough to drive even a god mad, my once-brother, how did you think I felt? No, now that I know the truth, I can never be your equal.”  
  
Thor gets to his feet, stumbling and moving shakily towards Loki.  
  
“Stay there!” Loki bares his teeth, and Thor stops, abruptly.  
  
The trickster begins to laugh, but it comes out more like a string of sobs, shaking that thin chest of Loki’s. “I could never even be your equal as your younger, Thor, my storm-born brother of thunder. I couldn’t. The only way left to me is to be your enemy, don’t you understand? Asgard is lost to me, as are the Aesir.”  
  
He twirls his staff in his hand, almost contemplatively, his eyes narrowing as he looks at Thor, mouth tightening. “Be that as it may, I will rule. I will rule Midgard, and you cannot stop me. Chaos is the one thing I have now, my only constant. These bleating sheep want to be ruled, to be brought to their knees before a greater power.” Loki’s smile is like a shark’s.

“Such a pretty picture they will make, Thor, as they scramble to do my bidding, calling my name. Who am I to deny them that?”

Thor roars in raging disappointment, in fury. In mourning. The brother he has known and loved (still loves, his mind whispers treacherously) is no more, merely a shadow in the deranged god-villain that stands laughing before him.

“Mjölnir,” he snaps, summoning his hammer to him, and tries one last time to appeal to Loki, if that were at all possible. “Cease this folly, stop destroying worlds you have no reason to! Thousands are suffering at your cruel whims, and for what? A throne you do not even truly desire!”

Loki’s expression wavers a little, just a quivering hesitation, but Thor spots it even as Loki sets his jaw and steels his eyes to meet Thor’s again. “You think you understand me,” Loki murmurs, almost in awe, but anger is creeping into his voice, laced between his quiet words. “You think you know, you think you can fathom the workings of my mind, Thor. The utter _arroganc_ e—”

Thor grits his teeth. “I have loved you for hundreds of years beyond your wildest imaginings, you _fool_. I know a lot more about you than you believe me to.”

“Shut up,” Loki’s words are like the crack of a whip, quick and strong, and his eyes are desperate. “Don’t speak to me about love, you don’t know anything about what I am, what I have become.”

  


“Don’t, Loki—” Thor chokes in surprise, glancing down to look at the knife between his ribs. He turns slowly, and Loki is there behind him, his double fading into thin air.

“Why?” He asks weakly, pressing a hand to his chest and drawing blood. The dagger’s missed his heart for whatever twisted reason Loki has in mind for keeping him alive despite it all, but there is an awful lot of red trailing down his arm. His vision is beginning to swim.

Loki pulls the blade out, and while the pain of a sharp knife being ripped out of him is nothing new, the notion of Loki having been the one to wound him in such a way is gripping, something that wakes a great sadness in him.

He gropes at Loki’s arm, struggling for a grip, to hold Loki and not have him leave, have him escape with things simmering between them like this. “Don’t go, Loki. I’m sorry for everything,” he manages, clinging tightly onto his brother. “Don’t do this, please, there _has_ to be another way.”

Loki shakes his head once more, brows furrowing as if confused. “There was never another way, Thor, and there never will be,” his words are shaky, just like his fingers are on Thor’s as he pries Thor’s iron-grip away from his arm. “This is what I have become, and this is what I must remain.”

“No!” Thor shouts, as Loki steps away.

“Oh, _yes_ ,” Loki says, almost regretfully, as he looks down at his hands, red with Thor’s blood, one of them holding the dagger that had drawn the scarlet from his flesh. He looks almost disbelieving, his eyes flicking down to the blood, to his hands, to Thor’s face.

Loki tilts his head, and smiles a wan, sad smile as he begins to fade, ignoring the way Thor is roaring his name, pleading for him to stop, _please_ —

“Farewell, Thor.”


	6. Surrendering

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> It is a peculiar kind of gravitation. They seem almost frozen in place, but for the small movements they’re making towards each other; the subtle shift of a leg, fingers creeping on cloth. The man slides closer, sinuous, his black shirt whispering against Thor’s arms. For one breathless and intoxicated second, it’s like the world tilts, and then there are lips grazing the edge of his mouth. “Do you, do you want—” there’s a murmur, an unfinished question, and then there isn’t. A hand’s wrapped in the front of Thor’s shirt, unyielding, possessive almost. It loosens in a growing uncertainty.
> 
> Thor closes his eyes, thinks of Loki, and answers, “Yes.”

“Drink something,” Tony insists, pushing a pint towards Thor, who is leaning listlessly against the bar, eyes glazed and mind elsewhere. “I know you’re not keen to celebrate with us over the temporary retreat of your brother, even if the bulk of us agree that he’s rather this side of crazy—”  
  
“Not now, Starkson,” Thor says, tired, but curls his fingers around the cool glass anyway, taking huge gulps of the glorious, sweetened bitter taste he’s come to associate with Midgardian nectar. “He has gone too far and he will rain destruction on Midgard any chance he gets, but despite it all…”  
  
“He’s still your brother, I get it.” Tony gives him a hearty slap on the back before gripping Thor’s shoulder intently. “We’ll be over here if you need us. Just call for more drinks if you   need anything — Pepper insists I take this round, damn it all — and if you happen to find anyone you want to take home…” He makes a lewd gesture, and Thor raises an eyebrow. “Well, just don’t wake us up or anything in the wee hours of the morning if you’re the loud sort.”  
  
Thor sighs, drains the pint, and tries not to think about how he is the loud sort, especially with L— “I’ve not… been with anyone for a long time, Starkson, but I would do you the smallest courtesy of not interrupting your slumber should that occur. And the rest, too, as they reside in Stark Tower alongside you.”  
  
Tony shrugs, just gives him a grin. “There you go again, going all fancy. Bartender, another pint for this man, here! Yeah, all right, just holler if you need anything, Thor.”  
  
And then Tony’s gone to join the others, an arm curling around Pepper’s waist as she bats him away but nips at his ear playfully. Steve is quiet, nursing his drink, and Natasha observes as usual while Clint and Bruce are betting over some cards in a corner. It’s a peculiar picture, given how they had been so bruised and battered just scarce 2 days prior from their last altercation with Loki.  
  
“Here y’go, mate,” the gruff bartender pushes another pint towards him with a stubby finger, and Thor accepts it gratefully.  
  
“You have my thanks,” he rumbles, and the bartender just chuckles and goes back to tending his glasses with a trailing clink, clink of sounds, just like bells.  
  
He doesn’t know how long he sits there alone, brooding, his pint being constantly refilled with an Avenger occasionally shooting him a concerned glance. They don’t approach him, because no doubt Tony has told them to keep away and give him some time alone. Thor appreciates that.  
  
For the first time in a very long while, ever since he’d been so conflicted with the feelings he’d harboured for his younger brother, smiling and dark-haired, Thor wishes he could forget.  
  
The drinks are a start.  
  
As the crowd thins out, Thor thumbs his glass absently, the bartender drawing him another pint, impressed. “You drink them under the table on a regular basis, then?”  
  
“What, out-drink the Avengers?” Thor laughs. “Probably all except the Black Widow, she is magnificent with her drinks.” He tilts his pint in thanks again to the bartender, and takes another gulp.  
  
Eventually, he gets the feeling that someone is watching him.  
  
When he does turn around, there’s a young, brown-haired man smiling at him, tilting a glass.   
  
The bartender huffs and sets a tall glass out before him. “From the gentleman with the voice like silk, he asked me to tell you.” The drink is green and vaguely ominous-looking, and Thor looks at it doubtfully. “The Emerald Balrog contains absinthe, and it’s rather potent. What say you, sir?”  
  
“That a challenge?” Thor smirks, and picks up the glass. He raises it lightly back at the man in the corner, intrigued, before he takes a cautious sip. It is potent, and Thor finds himself pleased by this. “This is good.”  
  
“Yeah, it is.” The bartender gives him a toothy grin, and there’s a flash of gold teeth when he winks. “Best thank him for introducing it to ye.”  
  
Thor drinks more of it, and feels it begin to get to his head. “I suppose. Thank you, tapster.”  
  
“Man, polite customers, they don’t make enough of them nowadays,” the bartender shakes his head wonderingly, mixing more drinks as Thor sidles off his stool to join the man who’d bought him the drink in the corner, with the sofas.  
  
“That was an interesting drink,” he begins, rather unsure of what he’s supposed to do from here. Thor’s never quite grasped Midgardian etiquette, let alone trying to return one’s passing indication of interest in this realm so similar to, yet different from his own. “Thank you.”  
  
“You’re welcome, beautiful stranger,” the brown-haired man drawls, and the description he’d proffered the bartender earlier really is quite apt; his voice is smooth, syllables rolling off his tongue like the finest wine. Thor is a little captivated despite himself.  
  
Thor shifts in his seat, embarrassed. “I’ve never really… how would you say this? No one has approached me this way, before.” Not entirely true, for Thor had his fair share of male lovers in Asgard before Loki, those who’d approached him discreetly after feasts, sly invitations hidden between insults and tell-tale brushes against his fingers as they passed goblets of mead around the table. This — _Midgard_ — is new, and Thor’s at a loss.  
  
The stranger laughs. His face is warm and handsome, from what he can make out in the seedy lighting of their environment. Something about his eyes doesn’t match his smile; the stranger has sharp eyes of a dark colour he can’t see that make Thor feel like he is terribly vulnerable, somehow. “Surely not! You’re remarkably attractive, there must have been a few who’ve made passes at you.”  
  
He remembers green eyes and smiles like quicksilver.  
  
“Not really, no.”  
  
“What is your name?” The question is intent, and the stranger’s gaze is piercing and unsettling.  
  
Thor scrambles for a name that isn’t his. “Tho… Thomas,” he says, remembering at the very last moment a name Pepper had mentioned to Tony while shouting at him over one of their strange contraptions (she did that a lot, and he avoided that contraption at all costs, but then she would contact him directly when he had his suit on and he would whimper and— well, it was really quite amusing.). It would do, and it was closer to his own name than most.  
  
The man’s eyes crinkle delightfully, and his eyelashes are long. He might have called Thor beautiful, but this man was no less beautiful, himself. “Suits you. A handsome name.”  
  
Feeling emboldened by the sheer number of drinks he’s had this evening, Thor drapes an arm over the edge of the couch, leaning in. The stranger doesn’t flinch away from him, but neither does he move closer to Thor. He just looks on coolly, his smile sharp like a dare as he brushes his knuckles against Thor’s exposed neck and moves to tilt Thor’s chin with the back of his thumb.  
  
The gesture is both foreign and familiar.  
  
The music around them seems to grow progressively quieter as the world narrows to the two of them, and the colourful lights that are playing in the bar are eerie and ethereal.  
  
“And what of your name, stranger?” Thor asks suddenly, curious. “How may I address you?”  
  
The man’s expression snaps closed, and he hesitates a moment too long. He eventually forces a smile, twisting it so it comes out a bit of a sneer, but his eyes are wary. “Does it matter?”  
  
Thor does not answer for a while, but he does look intently at the stranger’s face as the lights continue to dance above them. “No.”  
  
“Well, there you go, then.”  
  
They linger there for a few more moments, eyes locked, neither willing to back down. People laugh around them, making merry and moving against each other in seductive movements. The Avengers are somewhere, and they’ve probably forgotten about him.  
  
Fitting, because they’re the last people on Thor’s mind, at the moment.  
  
It is a peculiar kind of gravitation. They seem almost frozen in place, but for the small movements they’re making towards each other; the subtle shift of a leg, fingers creeping on cloth. The man slides closer, sinuous, his black shirt whispering against Thor’s arms. For one breathless and intoxicated second, it’s like the world tilts, and then there are lips grazing the edge of his mouth. “Do you, do you _want_ —” there’s a murmur, an unfinished question, and then there isn’t. A hand’s wrapped in the front of Thor’s shirt, unyielding, possessive almost. It loosens in a growing uncertainty.  
  
Thor closes his eyes, thinks of Loki, and answers, “Yes.”  
  
The Avengers are all staying at Tony’s tonight, so they both hail a cab when they stumble out of the bar onto the rain-wet streets, and then they stumble again up to the hotel where the stranger is supposedly staying at. It’s dark out, but it’s still loud around them and people are still walking and chattering despite the hour.  
  
Their short journey up the elevator (Thor will never get the hang of those things, he’d take a harrowing near-death experience on the Bifrost any day) is quiet but for the sound of panting between presses of mouths on the curves of necks, between fingers tugging insistently at collars to bare more skin.  
  
Pushing through the door to a dingy room, laughing helplessly along the way, they kiss at last, hungry and hot. It’s frustrating how suddenly they have too many limbs, too many hands between them because they’re wonderfully close together but for the layers of clothes separating them. Thor eventually has the good sense to step back and pull his shirt back over his shoulders while deft fingers seem to effortlessly undo the buttons on his pants, feather-light wisps of touch that remind him so painfully of Loki’s magic. He returns the favour, and eventually, they are both completely divested of clothing and naked in the light that creeps in from the small window of the room.  
  
The stranger is lean, beautiful against the white sheets when Thor pushes him down, finally, kisses and mouths between his legs, drawing out a husky moan from him. It’s a blur of lust and murmured encouragements from there, hands tangling into Thor’s hair as he bucks into Thor’s mouth, sweat mixing into the sheets.  
  
When he moves up to rock against the man in a punishing rhythm, their groans echoing in the empty room, their mouths meet slowly, all lazy teeth and tongues. The man tilts his neck back, letting Thor bite down the line of his neck, and hums pleasantly before he tugs at Thor’s hair and moves in to kiss him again.  
  
Distantly, he hears his name, murmured feverishly like a litany. Not Thomas, but _Thor._  
  
“Thor, fuck. Just like that. There. Thor. Yes. Oh, _fuck,_ Thor, Thor, _Thor_ —”  
  
Then, he sees what he’s been looking for; the man’s eyes are green.  
  
And he knows.  
  
Thor feels something in him give way, and he stops, reaching down to link his fingers through the man’s, a gesture that suddenly feels more intimate than their lying against one another, skin-on-skin. He can feel himself starting to shake, emotion crashing down on him like waves after brutal waves, and his grip tightens.  
  
“Loki,” he says hesitantly, because he can’t be wrong, surely not, not if—  
  
Those same green eyes are wide now, snapped wide, startling still even with the mess of a fringe in front of that unfamiliar face.  
  
“Thor,” Loki says in a small voice, like he’s been caught doing something bad, and it’s with his own, original inflections. It’s silken still, the voice of the Liesmith; Thor wants to kick himself for not recognising it earlier, the dulcet honey tones his brother often employs when he wants something.  
  
Or when he wants Thor.  
  
The whole situation is beyond him. Thor just stares at Loki, who’s not Loki, who’s a pale young man in this form anyway but with a completely different face.  
  
“Are you aware of how very baffling this situation is, brother?” Thor asks, incredulous.  
  
Loki stares back at him for a while longer before he sighs, long-suffering. “How did you know?” He lets his guise drop, mousy brown hair lengthening into long dark strands against his pale skin. This is the Loki that Thor knows, and doesn’t; like the mad god he’d faced down just a few days before, he is too thin, cheeks hollowed and gaunt, his eyes haunted. There’s a soft tremble to his fingers he doesn’t remember.  
  
Thor doesn’t know how to answer that, because there were little tells he’d picked up on from the very first moment Loki had touched him in the bar, arrogant and seductive. Loki’s mouth on his, even under the shadow of a guise, had been demanding as ever, plundering and taking whatever he wanted because he could, his fingers moving in achingly familiar patterns over Thor’s back.  
  
Being with Loki has always been like playing with heartless fire, thrusts and fucks and kisses that blended pain and pleasure and desire and possession. There was no way that Loki could have tried to tempt him so without giving himself away, weaver of silver lies or no.  
  
Loki’s body speaks truths his mouth won’t reveal. His lash of self-loathing is tucked away in the arch of his back when Thor flogs him for his pleasure, mingling with his shame at taking pleasure from such an act, even if he knows it’s nothing more than he deserves. Loki’s tenderness creeps from between his caresses when he cradles Thor’s face against his, pushing himself up against his brother as they lie naked together languorously in the early morn, his lips soft and sweet.  
  
And then there’s the way Loki gives in so completely to Thor, yields his heart when their eyes meet as he fucks into Loki, when he reads the fear in his brother’s eyes, the wild wanting, the truth.  
  
He does not know what Loki is so afraid of, because Thor has been Loki’s as long as Loki’s been Thor’s, and they’re both too deep in this exquisite chaos to ever want out.  
  
Loki’s eyes are shadowed, troubled. He pulls away gently from Thor, but Thor will not have it. He wraps a strong arm around his brother’s slighter frame, yanking him closer. It had been so long, since Asgard, Thor muses. Since his Fall, and Loki’s discovery of the horrifying truth that Odin All-Father had stashed away in his own way of showing Loki his love.  
  
It hadn’t been enough for Loki.  
  
The silence is thick, and uneasy, and Thor eventually breaks it. “I ask you again,” Thor whispers unhappily against Loki’s hair, kissing down to his brow. “Won’t you come home?” He rests his forehead against Loki’s, his brother’s breath hot against his cheek. “With me.”  
  
Loki bites his lips, eyes shadowed and devastated. “I can’t.”  
  
“Why?” Thor’s voice breaks, just like his heart. He slides a hand up Loki’s arms, pulling them slowly above his head, pins them there and lets his left hand travel southwards on sweat-slick skin. Loki moves up into his touch, body a gentle arc, and Thor rubs his thumb roughly against the sharp turn of a hip, teasing and a little hesitant. “Why, Loki?”  
  
“Because Asgard will never be my home again, Thor,” Loki closes his eyes, hooking a long leg around Thor’s naked waist, reckless in his abandon. “I don’t belong anywhere.”  
  
Thor is too caught in despair to speak, too angry with everything — hurt and grieving in kind for Loki’s heartbreak, disappointed that the love he harbours for his brother can ultimately do nothing to change things as they are, and because there is nothing he can do.

He snakes an arm around Loki’s back, pressing him tightly to him. He grits his teeth, his eyes stinging with emotion, and doesn’t say anything in his helplessness.

After what feels like an eternity, Loki’s hands creep over his shoulders as well, uncertain, sweeping over the length of Thor’s back like they always do. He shifts closer to Thor, buries his face in Thor’s chest, lips moving softly and his breath tickling Thor’s skin. It’s as if he is reciting a spell.  
  
Or it might be the echoes of a prayer — for the both of them, for the denouement of Ragnarok, for everything to end.  
  
They stay like that, together, until the dawn.

__


End file.
